


Drowning in a Sea of Words

by ImNotAttractedToPans



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Pete Wentz's Suicide Attempt (Best Buy Incident), Song: Hallelujah, Suicide, Which I do, approved by my english teacher, but i dont want him to know that, but not hard to read, he thinks i want to die, its weirdly formatted, this isnt meant as disrespectful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 18:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12870789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNotAttractedToPans/pseuds/ImNotAttractedToPans
Summary: Various times leading up to the best buy incident





	Drowning in a Sea of Words

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.   
> Hi.   
> Hi.
> 
> This is my first fic, and i know this isn't the most pleasant of subjects but i thought that i would try and write about it. I mean no disrespect or hate (i don't know how you would take it that way but... we live in a crazy world)
> 
> how do you write these things?
> 
> umm.. i hope you enjoy.
> 
> Constructive criticism is encouraged.
> 
> OH! I am my own Beta for this work so if you see any mistakes tell me
> 
> *If you see something say something, come on and party tonight*

Pete smiles wide at them, the people who _care_ about him. The perfect picture of health, happiness, everything everyone expects of him. His laughter feels hollow, like a chest without treasure, a carefully constructed mask is all that hides the absence of feeling that is present in his thoughts. Each affectionate insult a crack to his mask of emotion. A mask that reflects what he wishes he could be to the outside world.

 

_Everyone thinks I’ve gotten better_

_I haven’t_

_I’ve just gotten better at hiding it_

 

“Hey man, you ok?” the well-meaning words filter through his brain, his once optimistic mind twisting them into a sneering “Are you over your silly little bout of sadness yet?”

 

His body screams for him to ask for help, to ask for a way for the pain to stop. He turns to Joe, his hair making his mouth and filtering the true words. _I’m not ok, please help me_ “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it”

 

_Depression is living in a body that tries to survive, with a mind that wants to die._

Pete doesn’t recognise himself in the mirror anymore. His eyes used to have a soul behind them. His thighs used to be unmarked, no ugly white, lighting shaped scars littering them. When he looks back up to his face he sees a shattered version of the man he used to be. He sees the shattered reflection of his soul.

 

The rattle of a pill bottle fills the room. These days it’s the only way he’s able to get out of bed without breaking down.

 

_Make me numb,_

_kill the pain,_

_heal my scars,_

_and make me sane._

“You’re 25, now’s the time people start settling down. If you don’t do it soon the chances of you having will children will dwindle.” he looks towards his mother, his mask perfectly in place. He hates this conversation, hates the implications, hates his life, he hates everything; but at the same time he doesn’t care enough to do anything about it.

 

“I don’t know, mum. I just don’t think ive found the right person, ya know.” Why would she know? He doesn’t even know himself.

 

“This is the prime of your life -”

 

“The prime?”

 

“Yes – and you need to start seriously considering it.”

 

He thinks about those words, logically they make sense, he should work on being happier, but at the same time he doesn’t see anything that isn’t a shattered version of the future. He doesn’t see a place for himself in this crazy world that isn’t a corner in a dark room.

 

“Yeah, maybe” he was never famous for his commitment.

_Depression is the inability to construct a future_

Looking out at the crowd he felt happy in a way he hadn’t felt in years. A happiness that took over every thought that had been growing in his head like algae.

 

He looked to Patrick. Patrick. His face split in two by a grin that could rival the Cheshire cats. Voice carrying through a stadium full of people.

 

Sold out.

 

People coming just to see them. To hear the lyrics he wrote sang in the angelic voice of his best friend.

 

But they didn’t know him.

 

They pretended they did.

 

But they never would.

 

_I like my music so loud I can’t hear my thoughts_

 “I think you should talk to me” Patrick is looking at Pete, his blue eyes filled to the brim with seriousness. He probably thinks he knows what Pete’s going though, that he is privy to looking into his shattered soul.

 

“What about?” he doesn’t know, why would he? He hardly listens to anything anymore.

 

“About why you’ve been so withdrawn lately” Lately, that’s a laugh, he’s been withdrawn for a very long time. Subtle things at first: not texting back right away, not going to parties anymore, stopping going out with people on the weekend. No one noticed then, they only notice now because he hasn’t been to the bar in a couple weeks. To them it probably seems drastic, even though he hasn’t felt included for years. At his look of protest, they respond with “Don’t even try denying it. You’ve never been like this before”

 

Before? Before what? Before he looked in photos of himself and stopped recognising the smiling person in them? Before he cried himself to sleep every night? Before it made him sick to eat? Before he started sleeping 12 hours a day? Before what?

 

“I’m not trying to be withdrawn _” Yes he is_ “I’m just” _Unmotivated? Not good enough to hang out with them? Not worthy to be a part of fall out boy?_ “Tired”

 

The silent call for help goes unheard by his ‘friend.’ proves to him how much he cares.

 

“Ok, well do you want to go out tonight? We might just find your future spouse.” He wiggles his eyebrows, dancing across his forehead like fire.

 

“I would, but I really think I’m just gonna try and sleep”

 

“Ok fine, but you have to promise that we’ll go out as soon as possible.”

 

“I promise.” He’ll think of a way to get out of that, his word doesn’t mean anything anymore.

 

That night when he gets home he smashes the mirror in his room. The very same mirror he bought when he first moved into his house. A mirror that has been through as much as him.

 

_Depressed people want to talk, but there’s always that underlying thought of “what if they don’t care”_

 “He lives!” The shout echoes across the mostly empty bar. The door he just came through closing with a soft click. He sees Joe, Andy, and Patrick sitting in a booth, a teenage girl thinks she’s being discreet taking a photo of him by holding up her phone. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks”

 

Maybe because every time he thinks about putting on his mask, thinks about facing the outside world, he feels violently ill. “Yeah, sorry about that. Life just got in the way”

 

“I know how you feel, man” No he doesn’t. He never will.

 

Turning the the bartender that has just arrived at their table, Joe leans over yo give what he expects will be Pete’s order “He’ll have a Guinness.”

 

“No, I think I’ll have a Lagavulin. Neat” He deserves something expensive, something that he can celebrate his life with, not that he’ll ever tell them that.

 

“Hey, you never order anything other than beer, are you ok man?”

 

No, and he knows deep down inside he is as shattered as the mirror hanging up in his apartment. “Yes, I promise you I’m fine”

 

“Ok then” his ‘friends’ start talking about their love lives, start talking about how his is non-existent.

 

And through all this he sits there, sits there with the knowledge that in the morning none of this will matter.

_Sad people always try to make other people happy, because they know how terrible it is to_

_feel lonely_

He stares into the thin, web-like crack in the sidewalk outside the Best Buy parking lot, inside it endless posibilites.

 

His car is cold, the February chill still setting itself into his bones, as his fingers grip the little white bottle with the blue label. He shakes it once, the white pills rattling in a mesmerising way.

 

He swallows them one by one, each one sitting heavily in his stomach. Each one making the next one go down easier.

 

He lifted his hand up until it rested on the knob of the radio, turning it on Leonard Cohens Hallelujah fills the air.

 

_Every thought is a battle, every breath is a war, and I don’t think I’m willing anymore_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are my drug


End file.
